Exactly one year had passed since her return to the palace, and at last the long-feared day had arrived.

  The wedding ceremony would take place in the audience hall, the largest in the palace. The announcement of the betrothal, made three months prior, had spread throughout the Empire: everyone was invited, though in practice only the wealthiest and most influential would attend, their arms laden with gifts, hoping to win the Emperor’s favor.

  A large, raised platform had been erected for the ceremony, and the finest of the imperial Guard had been deployed to maintain order… though the Emperor’s presence alone was enough to deter the boldest of challengers.

  ???

  At dawn, Cerena was awakened by her handmaiden, who immediately set about preparing her with the utmost care: washing, dressing, perfuming, hair styling, and makeup.

  She had been provided with a long, flowing gown, with a wide belt cinched at the chest and flaring out in pleats to the floor, concealing the shape of her body. Snow-white, it was accented with sky-blue on the belt and embroidery, while the lower part of the dress bore ornaments evoking waves, and a silver moon and clouds adorned her back. Over it, a delicate, sheer white muslin jacket with long, wide sleeves blended with the rest of the garment, covering her hands.

  Her chestnut hair was gathered into a loose bun, intentionally leaving a few stray strands, all held in place by golden pins shaped like wings, a symbol of freedom anchored by the Emperor, like a bird in a cage. Sky-blue flowers, matching the embroidery, completed the hairstyle and the belt. Finally, her engagement necklace, simple yet significant, finished the ensemble.

  Pride and joy shone on her handmaiden’s face, who had never appeared so cheerful and encouraging.

  Yet, despite the ease of her gown, Cerena felt an immense—almost suffocating—weight on her shoulders. This day meant everything to her: it marked the final point of any hope for freedom.

  ???

  The Captain of the Guard came to knock on her door just before the sun reached its zenith. Her handmaiden followed at a respectful distance. They made their way to the throne hall, where the ceremony had already begun.

  The Captain opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. She could already see the throne, on which her future husband sat, and the altar set for the occasion. The roll of a drum sounded, and the previously tumultuous hall fell silent.

  Her handmaiden approached, ensuring one last time that her attire and hair were flawless, and whispered, “Good luck,” into her ear, under the Captain’s firm but understanding gaze.

  She drew a deep breath, fixed her eyes ahead, and stepped through the doorway, advancing slowly across the platform, the wooden floor echoing in the vast hall.

  The oppressive silence heightened her anxiety, her heart suddenly racing. She heard the Captain take position near the door he had closed behind her, never taking his eyes off the stage.

  When she reached the center of the platform, she bowed as the Emperor rose to face her. He wore a long, traditional wrap-style robe, fitted and dark blue, richly embroidered in gold: a dragon stretched from shoulder to shoulder, a symbol of the Emperor, of power and life; a sun crowned his chest; the buckle of his belt evoked a lion; and a stone medallion necklace, also carved with a dragon, completed the ensemble.

  A gentle scent of incense drifted from the altar.

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  Then she straightened and turned to face the rest of the hall; Her blood ran cold at the sight. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, stood in silence, all eyes upon her. She appeared to the world for the first time, every witness observing her closely. Despite the vertigo threatening to overtake her, she gave nothing away. At this moment, she could not afford to.

  A bell chimed, signaling the start of the ritual. An officer standing near the altar beckoned her forward. He took the ritual dagger from the altar and asked Cerena to extend her hand. He made a small cut at the tip of her index finger. The pain was brief, yet she could not suppress a slight tremor.

  As her blood began to bead, he poured a drop into a cup of tea placed on the altar.

  She knew what came next. She dreaded it more than anything, but she had no choice. In a slow, measured movement, she knelt on one knee, then the other, placed her hands on the ground, and finally touched her forehead to the floor, holding the position until invited to rise.

  The officer circled around and handed the cup to the Emperor, who remained at the rear, observing in silence, and took a sip.

  As the officer returned to the altar, the Emperor placed a gentle hand on Cerena’s back, who slowly rose, knees still bent, gaze still on the floor. As he positioned himself before her, she raised her hands above her head, and he placed the cup there so she could take a sip in return.

  The officer reclaimed the cup, and the Emperor extended a hand to her. The unexpected gesture made her look up at him with a questioning expression, but the moment she met his gaze, she realized it no longer mattered. She took his hand and rose as gracefully as she could, as his gaze remained fixed on her.

  The officer presented an object to the Emperor, who turned again toward Cerena. In his hand was a wide jade bracelet, carved like a dragon and set with diamonds. She extended her hand again, slipped it delicately through the bracelet, and as it reached her wrist, he tightened it in a sudden mechanical click that nearly made her startle.

  Cerena had been told every detail of the ceremony, yet no one had mentioned such an object.

  The accessory, finely crafted by a master artisan, had been designed so it could not be removed.

  The object was not heavy, yet an inexplicable sense of doubt washed over her. Blinking in confusion, she glanced at the Emperor, who smiled gently, then turned toward the assembly. Without receiving an answer, and to avoid succumbing to rising panic, she followed suit.

  A new drumbeat sounded.

  The guests, who had until then watched in complete silence, began to applaud and voice exclamations of joy, congratulations, and prayers for the long life of the newlyweds.

  Every gesture Cerena had made had been measured, perfectly orchestrated, leaving no room for improvisation. A single misstep could have tarnished the Emperor’s honor before so many witnesses, with disastrous consequences for her. The ritual was merely a display of force and control. Cerena was no longer anything but an object, absorbed simultaneously as he drank her blood—a single drop had sufficed. The bracelet: a disguised chain, symbolizing her captivity.

  The ceremony was nearly complete. She had to hold on.

  And then, she felt it. A faint presence, a tiny memory that brushed her mind, as fleeting as the blink of an eye. She immediately understood what—or whom—it was. She searched the audience, but to no avail.

  Yet in the distance, a figure, cloaked, detached itself from the group and strode toward the exit with determined steps.

  A single tear rolled from the corner of Cerena’s eye. Her breathing grew irregular, and a shiver ran through her body.

  He had come. He had not forgotten her.

  ???

  Somewhere in the hall, two others stood out slightly, not sharing the general enthusiasm. One was a young man with black hair and pale blue eyes, whom Cerena could have easily recognized had she seen him. A little farther off, the other was a young woman, blonde with blue eyes; someone she did not yet know.

  Each had mingled with the crowd and was witnessing the scene for their own reasons.